


Late Bloomer

by EntreNous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Sequence, First Time, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hasn't had much sexual experience. He goes about getting some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Bloomer

**Author's Note:**

> Nine drabbles plus a double-drabble at the close. I always thought JKR's reasoning that Harry wouldn't have had as much sexual experience as his peers made sense. But I couldn't help but wonder if the gates might burst a bit once the dust settled after defeating Voldemort and that crowd! Written for Daily Deviant's May 2012 theme of Satyriasis (male version of Nymphomania). Perhaps this isn't Satyriasis in the sense of sexual addiction, which I imagine as a lot more desperate and un-sexy, but more like Harry's Summer of Love. Oh, and Hermione mentions eighteen as the age for men's sexual peak; I've adjusted to that from the standard popular theory of seventeen as the age of male sexual potency for my purposes here.

**1.**

"Apparently men reach their sexual peak by eighteen," Hermione absently said one morning at Grimmauld Place, glancing at a women's magazine over eggs and rashers of bacon.

Ron froze, but soon recovered. "Best take advantage then, eh?" He winked at Hermione, who, to Harry's surprise, blushed scarlet.

Harry cleared his throat. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Probably a load of bollocks," Ron pronounced.

"Really, it varies with individuals," Hermione rushed to add.

"Got some catching up to do, haven't I?" Harry said with a half smile.

"Well, you _have_ been busy," Hermione said diplomatically, reaching for the sugar bowl.

 

 

**2.**

With so many crises year after year, Harry had just never had time for sex. But now with Voldemort gone and the wizarding world recovering, he finally noticed himself lagging in a race everyone else had begun without telling him.

Now, one month before his eighteenth birthday, Harry decided he hadn't the time to drag his feet and worry about liking boys instead of girls. No, he reckoned he had to dive right in, just like Hermione immersed herself learning German that summer.

Apparently it wasn't enough to study and think about it -- a person had to practice _every day_.

 

 

**3.**

Next day while everyone else visited Diagon Alley, Harry wandered to the Burrow's back garden to watch Charlie Weasley pull weeds. Charlie nodded in greeting and yanked off his t-shirt to mop his sweaty brow and chest.

Days ago, Harry would have turned away red-faced from those flexing arms, that perspiration glistening along tanned bare skin. Now he gazed openly and said, "Fantastic tattoo."

"This bit of ink?" A Chinese Fireball, tail twitching, twined down Charlie's side. "I've better ones further down," he joked.

Harry felt his face flush hot as he stepped forward and licked his lips. "Show me?"

 

 

**4.**

Ten minutes later, it was all Harry could do to hang on, arms and legs wrapped around Charlie, grunting as they slammed against Charlie's bedroom door.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Charlie muttered, actually ripping Harry's t-shirt as he pulled it off. He licked summer sweat from Harry's neck, laughing breathlessly as Harry squirmed to rub their hard cocks together through their jeans.

"Please, please..." Harry panted when Charlie's thumbs found his nipples and rubbed.

"What do you like?" Charlie asked, tossing him easily on the bed and crawling on top of him.

"Don't know yet," Harry said honestly. "Start with your favorite."

 

 

**5.**

When days later Charlie left for Romania, Harry said a wistful goodbye. They'd tried things he'd longed to experience and things he'd never imagined. Every messy confusing bit had been brilliant.

Feeling listless, he headed to a pub the night after and spotted Viktor Krum, scowling and shoulders hunched, at a corner table. Harry ordered two pints and joined him.

"You come here alone?" Viktor asked gloomily. But Harry didn't miss the way his eyes flickered over Harry's mouth, down his body.

"I'm no good at this," Harry apologized. Viktor stiffened, until Harry asked, "Take me somewhere and fuck me?"

 

 

**6.**

Viktor liked it rough. Harry loved it.

Harry spent one bout balanced on knees and upper arms, wrists tied with Viktor's leather belt. He shook as Viktor's tongue reamed him, shouted when Viktor rode him hard.

Some things were a bit much. When Victor slapped him with his cock, Harry bit his lip to keep from snickering.

Other things left Harry swooning, like when Viktor muttered incomprehensible phrases, tenderly binding Harry's ankles to his wrists. The restraints arched his kneeling body back. His hard cock brushed his belly, and he licked his lips as Viktor ruthlessly jerked off over him.

 

 

**7.**

"Eventually I marry woman," Viktor explained, his forehead fixed in a scowl as he ended things.

Other chances came too fast for Harry to miss him.

Neville, blushing, asked how Harry knew he liked men. A night of friendly fumbling gave way to an awkward morning after.

Harry saw George home from a pub when he'd had too much drink. They snogged and laughed it off later.

At a party, Harry met Anthony Goldstein's eyes and smiled. They ended up in the garden shed.

It was like finding out about magic after knowing nothing of it, like finding magic everywhere.

 

 

**8.**

Ten days to his birthday, Harry dashed off a note he'd pondered for weeks. It seemed only right to owl the boy who started him thinking about men.

Oliver Wood immediately sent tickets for the Wasps match. Harry binned the extras and went alone.

He began to get cold feet afterward outside Puddlemere United's locker rooms. When he spotted Oliver with Marcus Flint's arm slung across his shoulders, he nearly left.

"Harry," Oliver exclaimed. "We hoped you'd come." He grinned, nudging Harry's shoulder.

"We?" Harry asked.

Flint gave him the once over.

"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed, his heart beating faster.

 

 

**9.**

Harry had dreamt about Oliver, but he'd never thought about Marcus Flint that way. Once they reached Harry's hotel room, however, Oliver pressed against Harry from the front, Flint from the back. Harry, while his knees gave out, decided his fantasies needed some adjustments.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed when he felt the press of Flint's large cock against his arse.

"We'll get to that," Flint growled out. Oliver just laughed and quickly pulled off Harry's shirt.

They ended up in a sprawl on the king sized bed, Harry sliding his lips down Oliver's cock while Flint fucked him from behind.

 

 

**10.**

" _I said_ , you might have invited us," Ron groused as he and Hermione helped Harry get Grimmauld Place ready for his party.

"Hmm?" Harry asked. After three nights with Oliver and Marcus in various configurations, he thought his daze might take ages to wear off.

Still, the odd rueful thought plagued him while they hung banners and bickered over the menu. Eighteen tomorrow, and he'd barely scratched the surface.

"So you had a good time with Charlie and Viktor?" Hermione asked when Ron left to see about the Butterbeer.

"Marcus and Oliver," he corrected.

"Them as well?" She sighed. "There's no reason to cram them all in, really."

His jaw dropped.

"Honestly, Harry," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "A peak is the highest point, not the absolute end. It's not like you'll become a eunuch after midnight tomorrow! You'll have _years_ of --" She waved a hand vaguely and blushed.

"Oh. Right," he said slowly. He'd known that. Hadn't he?

"Anyway, I thought I should mention Charlie's coming tomorrow. A surprise," she added.

"Yeah?" He licked his lips.

"Just try to stay for your entire party first," she snapped, stalking away to arrange flowers and waving off his wide grin.


End file.
